Forgiven
by Juliet6866
Summary: Chuck & Blair have a fight about a certian text message. But who sent it? Chuck intends on finding out. Obviously Chair. Please Read & Review!
1. The Fight

_A/N: I got an idea for this fic (when I should have been writing my other one)... I know lots of people have done the C/B fight thing, but it came to me and you can't fight the muse! Please Read & Review... Let me know if there are more chpt here or not- I haven't decided if this is a one-shot or multi-chpt. Thanks! xoxo_

* * *

"What is it this time, Blair?" Chuck yells in the middle of his suite, "Did I happen to glance at another woman walking by? Did I embarass you in front of your mother? Did I use the dinner fork instead of the salad fork?" He moves to obstruct her way out.

She squares her shoulders and tries to push past him.

"No," he pulls her wrists into his hands, holding her in place, "Tell me what's wrong!"

"Just let go of me, Chuck!" Blair screams back, attempting to pull herself free.

"Tell me and I will." He reasons.

He was dumbfounded. Lunch with Eleanor and Cyrus had gone off without a hitch or so he thought. He was charming and appropriate, on his best behavior, as promised. But, in the limo on the way back to the hotel, Blair was sullen and refused to hold his hand. She simply crossed her arms against her chest and turned toward the window, effectively shutting him out.

Of course he had asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn't look at him and would mumble a curt, "Nothing, I'm fine."

He rolled his eyes and chalked it up to the infamous Waldorf mood swings. Yet, when they made it up to the suite, she swiftly began gathering any of her belongings she had left there over the course of the last month. Chuck was confused and now he was yelling at her and holding her to prevent her escape. He was going to get an explanation damn it!

"If you have to be told then I'm definitely leaving." she screams back, trying in earnest to free her hands.

Chuck lets go of her wrists, but still holds his position by the door successfully blocking her exit.

"What? Blair I'm not a fucking mind reader! Tell me what's wrong!" Chuck throws his hands up in the air offensively.

"I should've known better than to start anything with you, Chuck Bass!" she spats back angrily.

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, trying to will away the sudden migraine that over takes him.

They already had this fight twice since the day he said, "I love you". This made number three. He has Tiffany's on speed dial and the "I'm sorry" gifts were becoming a regular occurrence. The make-up sex was incredible though, almost worth the fights themselves.

Chuck mentally kicks himself; he should understand by now that he just can't win with her. And even though it shouldn't be about winning, in his life there is always a game and everyone knows he hates to lose.

"Yes, Blair, I am an awful bastard. But, I _am_ trying here." he allows, his voice dropping from yelling to merely raised.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Blair challenges, her voice laden with venom, "Did you think I was that stupid?"

"Find out about WHAT?" he says completely exasperated.

"You on a date with the prima ballerina! Asshole!" she argues back, her hands firmly on her hips.

"My what- what in the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't deny it," she rebuffs, pulling her phone from her purse and pressing a few buttons, "I have proof!"

She hurls the phone at him. He catches it awkwardly after it hits his chest hard enough to bruise. He looks at the picture, him with his tongue down the throat of the one and only Bolshoi lead ballerina he had almost slept with twice.

"This picture is months old Blair." he explains, almost relieved to know what was going on; not relieved enough not to wonder who would send Blair that picture, however. He checks to see who sent it and of course it's unknown.

"Right, and you expect me to believe that? You think I'm a moron, don't you?!" she screams back, louder still. She hates when he has a rational explanation for things like this, it makes her blood boil. She figures it was a matter of time before she was made a fool of by that mother-chucker and is simply waiting around for the other shoe to drop.

"I don't think you're a moron," he says in a normal tone, taking one step closer to her, "I do wish you would believe me, though."

"Why should I?" she feels her resolve starting to thin, mostly because he did that thing with his lips where he is kind of smiling, but is still serious. It gets her every time.

"Because I love you," he states, endeavoring to take another step forward, "And it's the truth."

Blair stays where she is, weighing her options. Believe him and get to kiss those lips that are just begging for it. Or, stand firm and go home alone with just her pride to keep her company. Chuck or pride? Pride or Chuck?

"Ask Jenny, she saw me with her at Lily's the night this was taken." Chuck rationalizes, taking another hesitant step toward her.

He takes a final step to closed the gap between them, bringing his hands to her arms.

"Forgiven?" he asks through a smirk.

"Thinking about it." Blair ventures, her tenacity breaking away as his smoldering eyes look into hers.

Chuck huffs a little laugh and touches his forehead to hers. She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath.

"Sorry," she whispers, "Old habits die hard, you know?" she pauses and puts her hands to his waist, "Forgiven?"

"Thinking about it." he utters, pulling her into his arms and onto his lips.

_Ah, now for my favorite part, _Chuck thinks to himself while pulling her toward the bed.


	2. The Call

A/N: Hey all!

Here it is, the long awaited 2nd chpt!

I seriously didn't think it would take this long, but I wrote a different chpt 2 and it didn't work out :(

That story is posted as a one-shot called 'Amends' if you're interested!

Thanks for reading and remember that reviews are like heroin to a junkie!

Thanks again! xoxo

* * *

Chuck wakes early from their afternoon nap that was preceded by their afternoon make-up session. He slips out of bed and pours himself a drink from the bar. The serious relief he felt is now overshadowed by his overwhelming desire for answers. He is extremely grateful that Blair believed him. He understands that his track record is far from spotless. If he's honest with himself, he knows it's sullied with a variety of misdeeds and misadventures. She was well within her rights to interrogate him. He stood her up at an airport to screw an interior decorator for Christ's sake! Last year he probably would have been guilty, that picture wasn't photo shopped after all. Blair should have done worse than she did. So it was understandable that earlier, he was too preoccupied with keeping her in the suite and calming her down to really care about the sender of the mystery picture.

But the question is now heavy in his mind, _Who sent the text? _Obviously whoever sent it wanted her to have this exact reaction. Why send it otherwise? Apparently it's someone with an agenda against one or both of them. But this person mustn't know them very well. Who would fuck with Chuck Bass _and_ Blair Waldorf, then expect to leave unscathed? They must have a social death wish! Is it a new player in town? A forgotten enemy? An jilted ex-lover? The questions are piling up and Chuck is itching to get some of them resolved- fast.

He walks back to the bed and takes a glance at Blair who is still sleeping, peacefully unaware of the question marks looming in his thoughts. He ruffles through the clothes scattered on the floor near the foot of the bed, evidence of their earlier tryst. He finds his pants and fishes in the pocket for his cell. He scrolls through the numbers until he finds the one he's in search of. He dials and they pick up on the first ring.

Chuck doesn't offer any greetings or pleasantries, "I need you to do some digging for me." He speaks authoritatively, yet in a low voice so he doesn't rouse her from sleep.

He paws through the clothes again until he recovers Blair's phone.

"I'm sending you a picture," he continues, "I need to know who took it and most importantly, who sent it. Figure that out and I'll take care of the why."

He waits as the person on the other end receives the forward, then pops the battery out of her phone and slips it in his pants pocket.

"Yes, I can get you the cell it was sent to." He rubs his chin and shakes his head in frustration, not liking what he is hearing in response.

His annoyance gets the best of him and he raises his voice, "Cost is no object, just get it done!" He snaps the phone shut and sighs.

"Who were you talking to?" Blair asks in a voice husky, startling him.

He spins to face her. She's sitting up with the sheet pulled under her arms, a quizzical expression on her face. Even fresh from sleep, she looks beautiful and Chuck falters.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." He inserts, hoping she'll forget her query.

"It's okay," she assures, "Who were you on the phone with?"

"No one, just business." He lies smoothly.

He walks to her, sits on the mattress and puts the phones on the nightstand, he hopes without her noticing. He plays with the hand she has resting on her thigh and avoids making eye contact.

"Are you hiding something from me, Chuck?" She asks suspiciously, all the while trying to get him to look at her.

"No, of course not. It was just a business associate, nothing you have to worry about." He promises, finally turning his eyes to hers.

He tried to keep his response general and as close to the truth as possible. The sick feeling in his stomach coupled with her shrewd stare makes him almost let her in on the plot, but he can't do that. What if it was someone trying to break them up for a more sinister reason? What if it had nothing to do with them, but Bass Industries instead? What if someone was using her to get to him? She didn't need this on her mind so close to school starting. The right thing to do is keep this one thing from her until he knows for certain. That may prove to be impossible however, she's too damn perceptive.

"You sure?" She insists with a slightly less skeptical voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure." He nods and sweeps a lock of hair from her cheek.

She is still giving him a wary gaze, so he decides to very quickly change the subject.

"What would you like to do tonight?" He asks, making his voice as light as he can.

"I can't think of anything in particular," she ponders, "Did you have any ideas?"

Still keeping the sheet clutched to her chest, she takes the hand not occupied by his and traces his lips with her finger.

"That's cute, you know?" Chuck says, a slight smirk forming.

"What?" She asks self consciously.

"The modesty," he explains, pointing to the fabric covering her, "It's ironically endearing."

"Just because I don't walk around stark nude all the time, like some people," she huffs while motioning to his nakedness, "Doesn't mean I'm a prude!"

"Oh, I'm fully aware that you are nothing close to a prude." He drawls then gives her a provocative, knowing glance.

She pulls out of his grasp and yells, "Chuck Bass! Are you calling me a slut?"

He chuckles, "I like to think of you as easily seducible."

She glowers at him and he quickly adds, "But only by myself, of course."

"You certainly think a lot of yourself." She counters.

He leans in and whispers in her ear, "Who can blame you? I'm irresistible."

She shivers a little as his tongue peeks out to lick her earlobe.

She regains her composure and sarcastically responds, "And humble too."

"The same goes for you though. What chance did I stand against your charms?" He asks wistfully.

"I suppose that's somewhat less insulting." she allows, "Because if one of us is the slut in this equation, it's definitely not me."

"Touché." He concedes.

Chuck gets up and moves behind her on the bed until she is in between his legs with her back against his chest. She settles against him comfortably, savoring the warmth.

"Now back to our previous conversation, what can we do to entertain ourselves tonight?" His implication doesn't go unnoticed by Blair.

"Hmm…" She stalls as his mouth finds the back of her neck, "I was thinking bible study or a stimulating game of backgammon."

He laughs lightly on her skin and in his best sardonic voice he agrees, "It's like you can read my mind."

She laughs in response and turns her head to kiss his lips.

"You want to go to dinner then the club?" He offers, "Maybe grace them with a dance?"

"Possibly, but I only do private dances nowadays." She wiggles her hips to demonstrate the point.

"I'd like to see that." He states, his hands moving lower on her body.

"You couldn't afford me."

"I'm pretty sure I could swing it." He snickers, loving the little effortless banter.

"We'll see." She challenges.

"In other news, I am sorry to inform you that you'll most likely be requiring a new phone." He notifies her out of the blue.

She cranes her neck to give him a puzzled look.

"I think yours must've busted when you hurled it at me." He clarifies, raising one eyebrow.

Blair blushes slightly, remembering their argument and her concurrent overreaction.

She begins apologizing, "Yeah, about that--"

But Chuck cuts her off, "No worries, if anyone asks about the bruises, I'll tell them I ran into a door knob."

She chuckles softly at his joke and he pulls her closer.

"Come on, we'll shower then stop to get you a new cell on the way to dinner and Victorla." He suggests while climbing out of bed again.

"K, start the water, I'll be right there." She smiles when he kisses her forehead before turning toward the bathroom.

"Not too hot." She calls to him in reminder.

When he's completely out of sight, she grabs the cell phones. Hers is missing the battery, keeping her from knowing for sure if it is truly broken. His, on the other hand, is working just fine, but is locked. Passwords are easy to crack when you are with a person more than you're away from them. It's not like she was spying, she just happened to see which buttons he pushed when he would look at his messages. She scrolls through the recent call log.

_Mike? Why was he calling his P.I.?_

Blair looks toward the bathroom and says to herself, "What are you keeping from me, Bass?"


	3. The Encounter

A/N: Hey all!

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews of chpt 2! It is great to hear you are enjoying this!

Please keep reviewing! I can take criticism if you are holding back! lol :)

Now all I have to say about this chpt is.... and so the plot thickens...

Thanks again!

xoxo

* * *

Inside the hotel bar, Chuck sits on a stool eager to hear the identity of Blair's mystery texter.

"So, all you know for sure is the call came from the Upper East Side?" Chuck asks, obviously irritated by his P.I.'s lack of progress.

He grips his cell in his left hand so hard his knuckles turn white, with his right he empties his glass of scotch. This is not what he wants to hear. It's been nearly a week since the picture was sent. Blair has all but forgotten about their fight, or so he hopes.

"That's the cell tower the call originated from. I know what service they use, but it is a popular company, so that's probably a dead end." Mike answers, offering any and all information that might appease his client.

"Fantastic," Chuck comments sardonically, "What do you have on the person who took the picture?"

Mike wants to groan, he is working night and day on very little information. Even though Chuck Bass is a priority client and is paying him an obscene amount of money, there isn't much to go on. Besides, Chuck isn't exactly renowned for his patience, which only adds to the pressure.

"I pulled video from the venue you were at. I have the approximate time it was taken, but it was quite crowded. I'll have more in a day or so. My guy at the cell company owes me a favor." He explains.

"Keep digging. I need to know as soon as possible."

"Understood." Mike returns, knowing the click on the receiver is going to swiftly follow.

With that, Chuck hits the end button and orders another round from the bartender by simply extending his hand.

He barely has time to fully wallow in his frustration before his cell rings again.

Blair.

"Where are you at?" He questions by way of greeting.

"Still at my mom's." She replies, looking in the mirror to figure out what to do with her hair.

"I thought you were going to get ready at the hotel." Chuck points out, he could really do with her presence right about now. She has an uncanny ability of raising his spirits by merely being there.

Blair can hear the small yearning in his voice, probably only audible to her. She almost regrets changing her plans, he can be so romantic without trying. He misses her and it makes her lips turn up at the thought.

"Well, my mom made me a dress for tonight and she wanted to do some final alterations."

"You have dresses here." He coaxes, using an alluring tone.

"I know, but this one is so beautiful." She explains, melting at sound of his voice.

"You're beautiful, the dresses are inconsequential." He compliments, remembering her being most beautiful when wearing very little at all.

"I think if I walked into Jean-George wearing what you prefer me in, I'd cause a sensation." She laughs lightly, reading his mind while pulling a brush through her long brown tresses.

Chuck feels a slight grin peak out, she really does have an undeniable power over his mood.

So, he gives in, "Fine then, when should I pick you up?"

"I can take a cab, _Chuck_." She informs with a sigh on his name.

"No, I'll pick you up in the limo, _Blair_." He insists, copying her inflection.

"If you pick me up in _that _limo, I don't think we'll make it to the restaurant." She explains, "How many dinner reservations have we missed so far because of that vehicle?"

"All right, I'll send a car and you can meet me there. Happy?" He pacifies.

"Elated." Blair admits then inquires innocently, "What are you wearing?"

"Blair, I am in public. So, if this is going where I think it's going, I may have to change locations." He teases.

"I meant tonight, you perv." She admonishes gently.

"We'll save the dirty talk for _after_ dinner then." He surmises with a tongue in cheek grin.

She shakes her head and chuckles, "You never answered my question."

"It's a black tie establishment, but I have always been a rebel when it comes to fashion. So, you will just have to wait and see." He jokes.

"I can't take you anywhere." She teases back.

"See you at eight?"

"Can't wait." She responds, honesty strong in her statement.

"Later then." He concludes in a longing tenor.

"Bye." She says in a voice much like his.

Hoping to catch her before she hangs up, he asks with thinly veiled desperation, "Blair?"

"Yeah?" She questions in return.

His pitch turns to a tender whisper, "I love you."

She smiles widely to herself before responding, "I love you too."

Chuck hangs up and pockets his cell. He keeps his eyes down, focusing on the fresh tumbler of scotch he rolls in his hand. A smile still plays on his lips, his worries temporarily abated. Love really does suite him.

"Drinking before five and alone no less. Never a good sign." An all too familiar voice points out from behind him.

Georgina.

The smile falls from his face and he freezes, feeling the puzzle pieces of his most recent whodunit suddenly fall into place.

"Aren't you going to ask me to join you?" Georgina asks, moving to his right side to slide into seat next to him, not waiting for his response.

"No, I'm not." He coolly notifies her with a grimace.

"Never the gentleman." She quips, straightening herself on the stool and turning to face him. Then, she crosses her legs and sets her small handbag on the bar.

"Can I get you something, Miss?" The bartender helpfully asks.

"She won't be stay--" Chuck begins.

Georgina quickly cuts him off mid-sentence, "Vodka martini, _dirty_."

She mischievously smirks at Chuck as she orders, then swivels to the bartender to give him a reassuring smile.

The bartender is clearly torn between Chuck's near refusal of her request and Georgina's self-assured response. Chuck nods minutely at the befuddled garcon in compliance.

"What are you doing here, Georgie?" Chuck inquires, breaking the silence.

"Catching up with old friends," She reveals disingenuously, "I am a New Yorker once more and I wanted to… reconnect, you might say." She pauses when the bartender delivers her cocktail and she takes a sip. Chuck stares at her with cold eyes and waits for her to continue.

"And here I thought Blair would be with you. Two birds, one stone, you know?" She keeps her voice cheerfully innocuous, proving her less than sincere intentions to those who know her, "I had it on good authority you two were all but inseparable these days."

She takes another delicate taste of her drink and asks, "Trouble in paradise?"

"Almost, thanks to you." Chuck indicates in a menacing timbre.

"I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about." She defends in the same sweet voice.

"And I'm sure you do." He presses, cracking a knuckle on his left hand.

"Very cryptic, Chuck." She almost encourages.

"Don't fuck with me, Georgie. I know you sent the picture. Congratulations, you got the response you wanted. Blair was livid." He maintains, giving her the due she is obviously waiting for.

"I assume you wouldn't believe me if I asked what picture you're referring to." She drinks again from her glass, eyeing him expectantly.

"You bitch." Chuck grumbles incredulously under his breath.

"I assume correctly." Georgina confirms, clearly enjoying the tension.

"You always have to stir up shit where ever you go, don't you? Don't you ever get tired of causing trouble?" Chuck holds his scotch tightly as he tries to tame the ire that threatens to overtake him.

"Trouble finds me." She clarifies, raising an eyebrow and a crooked smirk.

"If by 'finds' you mean 'doggedly hunts down' , then yes I suppose it does." He throws back at her.

"Whether or not you choose to trust me, on this particular matter I'm innocent." She asserts, looking him in the eye without a glint of irony.

His resolve is slipping and doubt wanders into his mind. _But, if not her, who? No, it fits too well, this is classic Georgina. It has to be her._ He thinks, confusion taking over his thoughts.

"But it sure does have you in a tizzy though. I'm almost sorry I didn't do whatever it is you're accusing me of." She remarks regretfully.

"I don't believe you." Chuck determines, trying to stare her down, "And if I find out it _is_ you, I will bury you."

She laughs, "Overdramatic much? You always did had a talent for threating people."

"It's a promise." He clarifies.

"No matter." She continues in her previous light tone, "I really must be going."

Chuck turns his face away from her, his jaw clenched down tightly.

Georgina drains her martini and places it back on the bar, "Thanks for the drink."

She gathers her clutch and uncrosses her legs, readying herself for her exit, "And if you and your little Queen B think you've seen drama-- Stick around." She vows in a far more ominous tone.

She slips from the high-backed seat and goes to leave. Before she makes it two steps she calls out to Chuck, "One more thing… When have you known me to not take credit for a scheme?"

She walks back to him and murmurs in his ear, "You know as well as I do, that's half the fun."

A playful and devious grin adorns her face as she turns to depart. Chuck hears her stilettos clicking on the floor as she retreats. His mind is torn, could she be telling the truth?

Meanwhile at a penthouse on the Upper East Side...

Blair fastens her garters to her stocking and admires her full length reflection. This is what Chuck will be most interested in seeing tonight, so she has to look good under her gown as well as in it. She giggles to herself at the thought of things to come.

The night will be like a dream. Formal wear, dinner and dancing, what could be more perfect? Especially now that Chuck is all hers, she can finally slow dance with him, let him hold her closely. And most importantly, it would be free of all the bullshit that clouded the other waltzes they had shared. This would be a night to remember, she was sure of it.

Suddenly, she is pulled from her reverie by a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" She asks, before accepting the visitor.

"Miss Blair, you have a delivery." Dorota beckons from the other side of the barrier.

"Come in." Blair calls back instantly.

Dorota enters holding a bouquet of two dozen blood red roses. Blair lights up at the sight. She immediately reaches for the card attached to the flowers. Four letters are scrawled across the note:

_See You Soon, Babe. _

"Mr. Chuck send them?" Dorota questions inquisitively.

"Well, the card isn't signed. But who else would send me roses?" Blair responds, taking the flowers to smell them.

"Mr. Chuck is what you call a keeper, right Miss Blair?" Dorota nudges.

"Yeah, he is." Blair muses, trying to turn her thoughts back to their evening plans.

But the flowers bother her a little. Mostly because roses aren't her favorite, especially red roses. It's a sweet gesture anyway. But, Chuck _knows _that isn't her preferred choice. And that note… Odd, but thoughtful. She tucks the card into her handbag, not wanting to lose it and returns her attention to the mirror.

_A night to remember_, she thinks again.


	4. The Date

A/N: Seriously, thank you for your out pouring of support for this story!

It took me a loooong time to figure out what happens in the chpt!

Sorry about the wait, the muse can be a witch!

Please tell me if I'm on the right track or if I completely lost you...

Thanks again!

xoxo

* * *

"Good evening, Mr. Bass. We have your table ready." The maître d' informs, gesturing into the dining room.

"I will dining with a guest tonight, if you could-" Chuck begins, while following the forty-something graying waiter.

"Of course, Sir." the man pulls out the chair for Chuck and bows respectfully, "Enjoy."

Chuck nods in response and eagerly awaits Blair's arrival. A whole day without her is like going through withdrawal. His right knee is bouncing under the table as his hands fidget with a napkin. He catches himself and calms the nervous ticks by taking a deep breath.

The restaurant is stunning, not that Chuck would notice having been there many times for 'casual' dinners. The old world combined with modern day gives it a contemporary luxury and opulence. There is a dance floor in the middle, a raised platform made of black and white checkered marble. A band plays romantic, soothing music in the background to complete the ambiance.

When Blair enters the dining room, Chuck rises from his seat. He is simply awestruck by her presence. It seems like every light in the room attaches to her as she smoothly comes toward him. And all he can think is how right she was about not making it the restaurant, he would have never been able to control himself in private. The dress is striking, a pale gold floor length silk gown. It hugs her curves, flattering her petite figure, but isn't ostentatious or obscene. Her hair is half swept up with sultry curls flowing down from the back. She looks elegant and, to Chuck, downright delectable. The maître d' leads her closer and pulls out her seat. Chuck waits for her to sit before he does the same.

"Hello." She greets him, wanting to blush under the scrutiny his appraising eyes.

"You look…" He tries to find the right words to describe her appearance, but each word he mentally flips through comes up short.

"Thanks." She replies with an enchanting smile, "You're not so bad yourself."

Chuck wants to laugh, in no way is he a match for her. But Blair finds his formal attire sexy as hell. He wears a black tuxedo, but in true Chuck Bass fashion, he dons a gold patterned bow tie and matching silk scarf. They coordinate perfectly. H_e must have an inside man_, Blair thinks to herself, _Dorota probably_.

"I have to attempt to keep up with you." He adds, offering his hand to her.

Just then, the waiter comes to the table. Chuck unwillingly lifts his gaze to the attendant.

"Good evening, Mr. Bass, Miss Waldorf," the waiter begins, "Would you like to hear the specials?"

"Please." Blair responds.

The server prattles on about the menu while the two lovers exchange glances across the table's expanse. Once he concludes, Chuck orders a bottle of their finest wine and dinner for both of them, settling on tonight's delicacies. The sommelier promptly arrives with Chuck's selection.

"Chateau Haut Brion Pessac-Lognan 1982, excellent choice, sir." The sommelier compliments, pouring a glass for each of them. He quickly exits, leaving the bottle.

"How was your day?" Blair asks, sipping at her glass of Bordeaux.

"Better now." He confesses, unable to peel his gaze off of her.

"Sorry about today, but I just love this dress." She explains, running her fingers along the neckline.

Chuck doesn't miss this action and he licks his lips unconsciously.

"It was worth the wait." Chuck concedes, smiling indulgently.

They continue with easy conversation through the meal. They talk about Blair's upcoming college experience and Chuck's inevitable take over of Bass Industries. They postulate over Serena's absence with Carter Baizen and Lily and Rufus' wedding. It is a pleasant and comfortable dinner, both enjoying the company of the other.

Once the dishes have been cleared, Chuck gets up and extends his hand to Blair, "May I have this dance?"

"Of course." Blair answers, taking his hand.

With Blair on his arm, he leads them to the dance floor, by this time smattered with other couples. He pulls her to the middle, and again it is like the light follows her. The shimmer of the gown makes her sparkle in his embrace.

"How does it feel?" Chuck whispers in her ear, pushing a curl off her shoulder.

"How does what feel?" She questions back as they fall into an effortless rhythm and step.

"How does it feel to be the most gorgeous woman in the room?" Chuck asks, delighted by the smile she gives at his words.

"It might have something to do with my companion, he is devilishly handsome, you know?" She counters, kissing him chastely on the lips.

"Are you having a good night, beautiful?" He asks, turning her under his arm and gracefully pulling her back into his hold.

"To say the least." She answers and then something occurs to her, "Since when do you call me 'Babe'?"

"I don't. Do you want me to, babe?" He offers, puzzled by her statement, the endearment sounding awkward on his tongue.

"No… but you did. In your card with the roses you sent, you called me 'babe'." She insists as he swings them around to the edge of the marble platform.

He stops the dance, stilling their movements and looks her in the eye to explain, "Blair, I didn't send you roses. Why would I? You like peonies."

"That's what made it so odd! It didn't feel like you." She exclaims, sorting out her peculiar feelings from this afternoon.

"So who sent them?" Chuck demands, his voice inching toward fuming.

Blair stares back at him confounded, "I have no idea."

He clenches his jaw, letting his irritation take over, "Really?" He holds her tighter, the potential for suspicion casting a shadow over his self control.

Blair squirms from his hold and takes a stride away from him, "What are you getting at?" She asks defensively, her voice becoming louder.

Chuck looks at her indignantly, not stupid or angry enough to speak his qualms aloud.

"You think I'm cheating on you?" She is astonished at his assumption at first, then blind fury takes it's place.

"I didn't say that." Chuck maintains, his fists balling up as his blood pressure rises.

Blair is incensed by his denial and she nearly strangles him right there, "You might as well have!"

The urge to slap him is becoming less and less bearable, so she places a hand on either hip to remove the temptation, "And if one of us is a-"

She cuts herself off, not wanting to go that far. He doesn't really deserve that, a kick in the shin maybe, but not that.

Unfortunately for Blair, Chuck can read between the lines and finishes, "What? If one of us is a cheater it's obviously me?" He is screaming now, forgetting or not caring about the public setting.

"I didn't say that!" She contradicts, meeting his volume.

Chuck's eyes turn cold, "You might as well have." he echoes her earlier words, "And your history of fidelity isn't exactly unblemished."

Bringing up Nate is a low blow, he knows that. But he can't help himself, she drives him nuts when she's like this.

"Screw you, Chuck!" She spits back at him, turning on her heel; she walks off the dance floor and out of the dining room.

He catches up with her easily before she makes it out of the lobby, "Where are you going?" He asks, his rage quickly subsiding at the sight of her storming off.

She doesn't seem to have the same emotional turn around, her stance is still that of a pissed off girlfriend, "I think we've caused enough of a scene for one night. I'm going home!"

"Don't go." He urges distraughtly, grabbing her hand before she can depart.

Now the guilt kicks in and he can feel himself swiftly heading toward groveling. He wants to go back to the part where they were bubbly and destined for a night of love making. She seems to want no part in his efforts.

"Don't touch me." She snaps, snatching her hand out of his.

He looks so dejected, she softens a little, feeling a smidgen of remorse.

"I'll call you tomorrow." She offers in consolation.

"Blair, I'm--" Chuck starts, but is promptly halted by Blair's raised hand.

"Forget it. I'll call you tomorrow." She says again, consequently ending their spat.

With a heavy heart he watches her leave. He wants so badly to go after her, but a cool off period is probably a good idea for both of them. He continues to psychologically beat himself up for letting his big mouth get him in so deep. He sighs, finally resigned to the fact that the night is unsalvageable and pushes the door to leave.

Blair hails a cab, she is too upset to wait for a car. She gives the driver her address and wallows in regret. _So much for a perfect date_, she muses darkly. However, she was right about one thing, this is a night she'll remember. It's too bad the memory is a sour one.

Meanwhile at a bar across town…

A familiar face sits on an oak stool at a nearly empty tavern. The cell in the denizen's pocket goes off.

_The stroke of midnight strikes again._

_Spotted:_

_B fleeing C's company and not even leaving a glass slipper behind._

_Dare we say this is the end of the fairytale?_

_And where can we send the 'I told you so'?_

_You know you love me.._

_XOXO, Gossip Girl_

"Garcon!," the customer calls out, shaking the ice in the empty glass, "I'll have another."

The bartender gives his patron a regretful glance, trying to give the 'You're cut off' hint.

This doesn't faze the inebriated individual, "Don't worry, I'm not driving." is offered to placate the employee.

"Besides, I'm celebrating." The patron hiccups.

Begrudgingly, the bartender refills the glass and his customer takes a long drink.

"What are you celebrating?" The bartender asks, more out of courtesy than actual interest. It's a slow night anyway and sometimes a small chat can equal a big tip.

"It's difficult to explain." the barfly says in a slurred voice.

The bartender shoots a curt look, feeling as if this drunkard is impugning his intelligence.

The customer catches his drift and quickly says, "How can I put it?" rolling the thought over to come up with the correct phrasing, "Do you play chess?"

The bartender is taken aback, not expecting the question, "Yeah, but not well."

"Doesn't matter." the patron shrugs off, "I am in a chess match of sorts."

"I take it you're winning?" The bartender assumes, growing weary of the analogy already.

"At first, I underestimated my opponent. But now," the customer raises the almost empty glass before draining it.

"I'm about to take his queen."


	5. The Suspect

A/N: Hey all! Thanks for reviewing last chpt!

First of all, don't hate me! Second of all, don't hate me if I can't update fast.

And is it really who Chuck thinks it is? I'll never tell...

Please, Please, Please review! :D

Thanks again!

xoxo

* * *

Chuck broodingly climbs into the limo. He's cursing himself for his stupidity. He had started the fight, he had gone too far. And he's the one who is going to call Tiffany's in the morning.

"Home." He tells his driver, defeat evident in his tone.

He leans his head back on the seat and lets go of a weary sigh. This wasn't how the night was supposed to end. She was supposed to be right here next to him. They were supposed to be tearing at each others clothes and telling the driver to take it around the block a few times. She was supposed to be screaming his name as he was reminded of why he can't live with out her. '_Supposed to' doesn't mean shit_, Chuck thinks bleakly.

It takes him half the ride home, and much more self flagellation, before it dawns on him. The flowers, the picture… Could they be from the same person? Both had been sent to Blair and both had inspired the same reaction. How could he have missed it? Of course they were connected. He extracts his phone from the breast pocket of his jacket and dials, truly not concerned with the late hour.

"Mike, there's been a development. It is imperative I find out who is messing with me. Call in every favor you have. I don't care what it takes..."

*

Meanwhile at a penthouse on the Upper East Side…

Blair arrives home, but before she can even make it through the lobby she's already decided where the fault lies. She's certian it lies with her. All of the anger that had taken up residence in her was replaced with longing and regret. She had pushed him and he pushed back. Chuck had been acting so strange for the past week. He must be stressed out about his business with Mike, whatever it is. It was only natural to overreact, they both had been melodramatic and stubborn. In the end, where did that get her? Alone and depressed. Why should her perfect night be ruined by a silly bouquet of roses? It wasn't worth it and who sent them is inconsequential. She deserves to spend the night making it up to him.

Resolved in her decision, she heads back out to the street and again takes the first taxi she sees. She slides into the backseat, still mindful of her silk gown.

"Where to?" the cabby asks in a thick Brooklyn accent while popping his gum.

"The Palace Hotel." she answers, finally feeling better as the words come out.

"You got it."

*

Meanwhile at the Palace…

Chuck gets up to the suite torn between feeling furious and idiotic. Furious because of the sucker he's been made into, idiotic because he didn't make the link immediately. He slides his keycard into the lock and hears the click as it releases. He wonders if Blair has simmered down enough for him to call and more importantly, for her to answer.

He walks in and he senses that something is off immediately. Someone is there.

"Blair?" He calls out expectantly, taking a step into the dark room.

He suddenly feels like he's just walked into a horror movie and the urge to say, "Hello, is someone there?" is surprisingly tempting.

"Is that what you want to call me?" a seductive female voice asks, but not the one he'd been hoping for.

She steps out of the shadows wearing a trench coat and heels. She's very attractive; a leggy blonde with a supermodel body, probably in her mid-twenties. She saunters toward Chuck with an alluring smile. She stops a few feet short of him.

"Who--" Chuck starts completely flabbergasted.

But before he can get a full thought out, she shucks the trench to reveal the skimpy lingerie she wears beneath it.

"Do I meet your specifications, Mr. Bass?" She questions, taking great delight in the look on his face as she places her hands on her waist.

"Excuse me? Who are you and what are you doing in my suite?" He asserts, coming out of his haze and finding reason.

She looks faintly irritated, "You ordered me."

Chuck throws her a defiant stare in return, "I think you're mistaken, I did no such thing!"

"Then how did I get this?" She disputes, holding up a Palace keycard and waving it a little.

"I would like an explanation for that myself." He bellows as she moves closer to him until she is just inches away.

"Well, I'm paid for. So does it really matter?" She offers, running her hands down his lapel.

"Who sent you?" He backs away and she tracks him motions, following after.

She gives another little smile, "You did. Chuck Bass, 1812. They told me you like to play games." She says the last sentence in a sultry whisper.

Chuck has reached his limit and he firmly grabs her arms, "I don't know who you are or who sent you, but you need to--"

"What the hell is this?" Blair explodes, entering the room to the sight of a scantily clad woman in Chuck's grasp.

"Blair?" Chuck asks, turning to the door and pushing the girl away.

There is a split second of relief, she came to see him after their fight. He's forgiven.

But the current situation comes back to him. Then he sees it all through Blair's eyes: the half naked peroxide blonde prostitute, the compromising position, the dark hotel room.

He scrambles to find the right words to make the image go away, "Blair! No--"

"We're a little busy." The hooker states, trying to intimidate the brunette and places a hand on Chuck's shoulder.

He brushes her off instantly, cringing at the touch.

"Get out!" Blair screams at her, then turns to Chuck, "Is this what you've been keeping from me? Your whore?"

"Blair wait--" Chuck attempts to defend himself.

"You know what? I'll go." Blair spits out at them and stomps off to the suite's outlet.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Chuck calls, at the same time he wants to force the clichéd words back in his mouth.

"_This_ is exactly what it looks like." Blair throws out hysterically, "_This_ is a breakup!"

She storms out of the room and slams the door before Chuck can get a hold of her.

He wrenches the handle, flinging the door open wildly and runs down the hall.

"Blair, I swear I don't even know her." He pleads.

She is only a few steps from the elevator before he catches up with her. "Isn't that the Chuck Bass special? Fucking girls you don't know?" She slashes at him with her words, hoping it hurts as bad as she does.

"Blair, someone is screwing with us! It's a set-up!" He is desperate now, he is willing to confess everything.

Blair pushes the call botton and fumes where she stands. She is unconvinced and contradicts, "The only person screwing with us is YOU!"

The lift opens and she rushes into it. Chuck leans against the frame to keep it from closing.

This only upsets her further, "Get out of the way, Chuck!"

"No, please let me explain--" He hasn't been able to get a full sentence out yet, she is too quick.

"No, let _me _explain. Don't call me, don't text me, leave me alone. I never want to see you again!" she shoves him away from the elevator

He sticks his foot out to wedge it open.

"Blair, would you just listen to me, I need you to--" He chokes up, out of breath and the thought of her leaving is just too much.

"Enough!" she states with finality, "I told you once I refused to be weak anymore. I found my weakness, it's you. You've made a fool of me one too many times. I'm done. Now let me go!"

She thrusts her heel into his foot. He recoils at the pain and the doors quickly slide closed. Chuck pounds his fists against the shiny metal dividers, feeling everything slip away. He spins around and plods fiercely back to his room.

The working girl is right where he left her, she gives him a quizzical expression, "Want to finish what we started?"

Through gritted teeth Chuck spells it out for her, "What I _want_ is the name of the service you work for, then get the _fuck _out of my hotel."

"Whatever you say, baby." She looks unaffected by his request, this is obviously not the first time she's been booted from a client's place.

She retrieves a business card from her coat pocket as she picks it up from the ground. She hands it to him along with the hotel keycard and makes her exit.

If ever the term "man on fire" was applicable to Chuck Bass, it is now. He can barely contain the vicious rage building up inside him. At first, he stands as still as a statue, not trusting himself to move. A new resolve floods his entire being. A picture he can handle, roses he can allow, that's bush league. But a whore waiting to seduce him in front of Blair is his breaking point. _Bush league?_, he thinks, that's an uncommon idiom for him to use. It conjures up a forgotten conversation.

"_Your bush league attempts to take me down are getting boring…"_

Jack.

Chuck pulls out his cell, thinking now how evident it was all along. Only another Bass could out maneuver him.

"Mike, I have new information, the name of an escort service. I'm sending it to you now. And Jack Bass, I think he's behind it all. Find him. Do it now." Chuck hangs up without another word, then texts the information to Mike.

He goes to the bar and grabs a decanter of vintage whiskey and pours himself a tall glass. He takes a gulp, the amber liquid burns its way down his throat. He savors the tangible ache, hoping it will do something for the intangible. He thinks about hitting his stash, anesthetize, sedate, and numb. That's his M.O. right? Dull it down, you won't feel a thing, is his motto. He stares at the glass, searching to find if the answers or comfort he is looking for could reside there. It been his preferred coping mechanism since he was twelve. Could it help him now to drown his sorrows? Would he feel less played, less ire, less loss after the elixur took effect?

_Not this time_, Chuck concludes. He abandons the mostly full glass on the bar. He can't just sit around, he's a man of action. Most importantly, he's not a coward anymore. And without Blair, what does he have left to lose anyway? The mission is clear, seek and destroy.

"Game on, Jack." He says, pulling the door closed with a resounding thud.

* * *

Do you think Chuck is right?? Let me know :)


	6. The Fallout

A/N:

Hey all!

I truly appolgize from the bottom of my heart that it took so long to update!

My life is a crazy mess these days :P

Well, here is the next chapter... I made it a lil longer to make up for my absence.

Please, as always, review for me. Please please please :):):)

Thanks!

xoxo

* * *

By the time Blair arrives home, for the second time that night, she's shaking. The homicidal rage dissipated quickly and all that is left in its stead is pure pain. The shock of it is the worst part. She'd known that dating a womanizer was a dangerous risk. But, he had transformed, changed so much in the last year. The past weeks have been the epitome of happiness for Blair. Which is probably why the betrayal is all consuming, it floods her mind, her body and (most debilitating of all) her heart. She barely makes it up the stairs, her knees threatening to give out with each step.

Once safely behind her bedroom door, she slides down the wooden divider and lets it all go. She curls up, drawing her knees to her chest and cries. Not just a few silent tears, a tirade of fierce sobs rack her whole body. When she attempts to take a deep breath, it stutters in her throat and makes her lips tremble. This wasn't a small lover's spat like the ones before, she knows that, this is… the end. No amount of Tiffany's jewelry or apologies can piece her back together.

She remembers all her past pain: Serena leaving, her parents divorce, breaking up with Nate then learning about his affair with her best friend, Chuck not saying 'I love you', losing Yale… None of it measures up to this moment, even if it is compounded, it can't compare. Like when a doctor asks you to rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, there is no scale for this kind of anguish, no point of reference.

Blair peels herself off the floor and catches her reflection in the mirror. She takes in her red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks, but mostly she sees her beautiful gold dress, disheveled and wrinkled. She rushes to free herself from the silk confines, tearing a seam in the process. Then, she stands in just her lingerie, her new sexy get-up, purchased with _him_ in mind. It seems to be mocking her now for her idiocy. She rips that off too, the wisps of fabric hit the floor. She stands nude wondering how much more hurt she can bear before she simply spits in two. She glances to the bathroom, realizing how she could feel better. _Just this once?_, she persuades in her head. What did it matter anyway? She'd been so good for so long. She couldn't remember the last time she had purged. Maybe she could cheat and get the little fragment of solace she so desperately needs. The temptation is definitely present, acutely really, but she suddenly understands why she can't. She can't let him have that power over her too; the crushing sorrow was more than enough power for one man to have. Instead, she falls onto the bed and the hot angry tears take over once more until they run dry. Then, her emotional exhaustion gets the best of her and she sinks into unconsciousness.

Meanwhile at the Palace…

"What do you mean you don't know?" Chuck thunders crossly at the girl behind the front desk.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bass, but I have no idea how someone got this keycard." the girl offers, her eyes tight and frightened.

Chuck fumes, a shadow passing over his already dark expression, "Give me someone who does know then! Where is Gerald? He's the hotel manager! Maybe he can make up for your incompetence."

He immediately regrets the outburst. The girl doesn't deserve his wrath, but he isn't getting the answers he needs from anyone tonight.

"Mr. Greyson's gone home for the evening sir, it's 2 am." She explains in a meek voice, waiting for the next bout of abuse.

"I see." Chuck accepts, then spies a look at the girl's nametag, "Lucy is it?"

She nods, a little scared of him knowing her name. But his features have softened and she takes it as a good sign.

"Lucy," He begins, unleashing his mesmerizing stare on her, "I apologize. I have had a very trying night. Please put me in contact with a member of security that could assist me."

He gives her a kind smile, attempting to make up for his rudeness. And if she does know something, you get more flies with honey, right?

"Marlin, the security manager, is here." She assures him quickly, a slight blush coming to her cheeks, "I'll call him right now."

She seems taken in by his sudden charm and promptly summons the security manager.

"He's on his way, sir. Is there something else I can do for you?" she asks eagerly.

"Well Lucy, I was wondering if you could explain to me how the keycards work."

"They get programmed in the computer here." She turns the screen to him and points to the section, "You choose the room number and it gets imbedded in the card."

Chuck nods then asks, "Who has access to this?"

"Anyone who works the front desk and managers, but that's it," She informs, delighted that she can answer these questions.

"Can you check this card for me? Tell me if it was loaded today?" He requests, sliding the card across the counter.

She purses her lips and gives him a doubtful look, "I can try."

Lucy pushes the card into the reader and waits for it to load, "Umm… Mr. Bass, this is a master key, it can get you into any of the guest rooms."

Chuck snaps eyes back to her, sudden urgency in his tone, "Who has keys like this?"

"Th-the hotel executives, security, maintenance and the housekeeping staff all have forms of this key." She stammers.

"Thank you. You've been very helpful." Chuck reassures her.

Just then, a large, imposing man in a dark non-descript suit joins them, obviously the security manager.

"Mr. Bass," Marlin greets in a deep, gravelly voice, "What seems to be the problem?"

"Has anyone on the staff reported a master key missing?" Chuck questions, not at all threatened by the commanding presence of the gentleman.

"Yes," Marlin informs him, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow in Chuck's direction, "In fact one of the housekeepers said she lost her card just today. Why?"

"I believe I've found it." Chuck answers, producing the card that Lucy handed back to him, "Someone used it to get into my suite."

Marlin's already grave articulation takes on an intense seriousness, "Was something stolen? Is there anything missing?"

Chuck is quick to brush off his assumption, "No, nothing like that. But someone is taking things from me." He spits through his teeth.

The security manager looks a little confused by Chuck's statement but doesn't prod for any explanation.

"Please find out how this happened." Chuck continues, offering the card to Marlin.

The man takes it and eyes it suspiciously, "I don't take my job lightly, Mr. Bass. I _will_ get to the bottom of this."

With a nod, Marlin turns and stalks away toward his office.

"I will too." Chuck promises under his breath.

A moment later, his cell vibrates in his pocket. He isn't hopeful at all that it's the person he really wants to talk to, but he pats himself down to locate it anyway.

He checks the caller ID and quickly answers, "What do you have for me?" he questions into the receiver.

"Jack Bass is still in Sydney with no plans to travel out of the country. Of course all of the incidences could have been phoned in. Except the picture, it came from Manhattan. If it is Jack, someone is working on his behalf in NYC." Mike explains rapidly.

"The escort service?" Chuck throws at him sharply.

"They were a little sloppy there. I have a credit card number, it's faked with your name. But at least it is something to track down."

Chuck sighs, "All right. Let me know."

"As soon as I know something, you will." Mike guarantees, waiting for the click.

Chuck hangs up and replaces the cell in his jacket pocket. He realizes that he's still in his tux, an awful reminder of the failed romantic evening. He trudges back upstairs to his room and slumps against the door, looking at the bed. He wouldn't be able to sleep a wink no matter what, even though it was edging toward dawn. So, he changes into a more informal suit and paces restlessly across the carpet. One more second in this room and he will surely go mad. He tries to work out how he can get Blair to meet him. This is the real challenge. He knows if he could just see her, he would at least have a chance of her believing his story. But, Blair had been so adamant about never wanting to lay eyes on him again.

He exits the building with no destination in mind. Waving off his driver, Chuck turns the corner and starts to wander the lonely streets of the Upper East Side. Even though the city is always so alive, Chuck had never felt more utterly lifeless. He ambles on like a zombie, mindless and flat. The nights adrenalin has burned out and he is honestly no closer to an answer than he was yesterday morning.

Yesterday morning… waking up with Blair curled onto his chest, it must have been more than a day ago. The comforting memory seems ages apart from this despondent daybreak. He doesn't see the streetlight click off as the sun renders them irrelevant or notice the birds singing songs of first light. One foot in front of the other is as complicated as his body will allow right now.

He feels like he is walking in circles, but he isn't too surprised when he finds himself outside Blair's building. By this time it is around six in the morning. It is still a little early to call, but he frankly doesn't give a fuck. He needs to see her, he needs to make her listen. He doesn't dare call her cell, she wouldn't pick up anyway. It is a vain hope that she will even allow him to step foot in the door.

He soldiers forward and the doorman opens the glass divider as he enters. Chuck makes a b-line for the elevators unnoticed; the desk attendant is momentarily distracted by a delivery man. He pushes the button for her apartment and his heartbeat increases exponentially with each passing floor. When the doors open, he walks into the familiar entryway. Dorota appears immediately, almost as if she were waiting for him.

But, before he can even begin pleading with her, she is already shaking her head.

"No, Mr. Chuck. You no see Miss Blair." She asserts with finality, an edge of pity in her voice.

That sets Chuck off, "I have to see her." he demands.

Dorota stares him down, "Miss Blair is gone. She leave last night."

Chuck's face drops, then solidifies, "Where did she go?"

He can think of a few places, but with Serena's walkabout through every major party town in the world, the odds of her being in New York are slim.

"Miss Blair say I don't tell you." Dorota informs, not moving from her obstructive stance by the elevator.

The time for games has long passed in Chuck's mind and he walks by her to looks up the stairs, "Dorota, where is she?"

Just before he can run to her room to ascertain she is, in fact, not there, Cyrus starts to descend the grand staircase.

"Ah, young Charles." He states in his eternally chipper tone, "I am sorry, but you missed Blair."

Chuck opens his mouth to start interrogating the diminutive man, but is cut off by yet another order from Blair.

"And I am on strict instructions not to tell you where she is." Cyrus explains, effecting a gentle and understanding tone.

Chuck hangs his head in defeat and speaks in a broken voice, "Cyrus, I must see her. I have to make this right."

Cyrus stands beside Chuck, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder in consolation. If it were anyone else, Chuck would have shook it off instantly. But, he was oddly comforted by the small gesture.

"Young love can be fickle," Cyrus concedes, "Any love for that matter."

His own correction makes Cyrus smile wistfully, then he looks Chuck in the eye, "But Charles, I am truly sorry. I don't think she'll get over this one."

"You don't understand," Chuck defends swiftly, "I didn't do what she thinks I did. I would_ never _hurt her like that."

The older man nods, "You seem like the good kind, Chuck. And you make her happy… most of the time."

Chuck huffs a weary laugh at the amendment, then sighs.

"Why don't you tell me what happened." Cyrus offers, motioning to the dining room that is set up for breakfast.

Chuck hesitates not knowing how much he should divulge to Cyrus. He quickly decides that he really has very little to loose by taking him into his confidence.

They move to the dining room and sit at the antique oak table. Chuck clams up, completely tongue tied. Cyrus waits patiently with an expectant expression.

"I don't know where to start." Chuck acknowledges awkwardly.

Cyrus smiles reassuringly, "The beginning is always a good place."

Chuck takes a deep breath, "About a week ago, she got this picture…"

Chuck throws it all out there, explaining about the text, the flowers, the hooker. Cyrus listens with concern and shock at the more distressing details. When Chuck finishes he puts his head in his hands, realizing how screwed he is at this point.

Finally Cyrus speaks, a little stunned by the tale, "You are in a pickle there young man. But, who is doing this? Who has such an agenda against you and Blair?"

Chuck looks up, "I can only think of one person who'd have the motive and the means. But, it seems that he's working with someone else in town to execute his plans."

Cyrus is still at a loss, "But what _is_ the motive? You're just a kid."

"I'm about to inherit a multi-billion dollar company," Chuck points out, "There are plenty of people who would rather that didn't happen."

"But why Blair, then?" Cyrus asks with nothing more than heartfelt distress.

Chuck sighs dejectedly, "I think Blair said it best last night. I'm her greatest weakness, and she's mine."

It's silent for a moment as Chuck sorts through his thoughts, checking to make sure his emotions don't overtake him. Cyrus waits, realizing Chuck isn't finished.

"I'd do anything for her." He says in a small voice, "Maybe they think I'd give up my claim to Bass Industries…" He trails off, "And they'd be right."

He turns his earnest gaze back to the man sitting next to him, a man who is dumbfounded.

"You would really give up your father's legacy for my step-daughter?"

"Honestly," Chuck confesses, "I don't even know if I want it anymore. My father's shadow isn't a place I'm exactly comfortable in. But, I would. In a second."

His sincerity rings out in every word as Cyrus looks at him proudly.

"Really?" A voice from behind questions.

Chuck turns and stands in one motion, "Blair?"

The elation fills him instantaneously, she isn't gone. She's here, only a few feet away him. She looks so tired, her eyes are red and her complexion pale. But, Blair's here and that is what matters, the rest they could deal with later. Then, he wonders how much she might have overheard,

"How long have you been standing there?" He asks without making a move toward her. He doesn't know how she will react and he definitely doesn't want her to order him away again.

Her eyes flash with a strange mix of relief and anger, "Long enough."

Chuck nods in understanding, waiting for which ever sentiment she feels the need to express first.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She requests softly. It isn't an accusation, just a question. Blair walks toward him, placing her hand on his cheek.

Chuck melts into the simple touch, reveling in the smoothness of her skin, "I didn't want you to get hurt."

He grins sheepishly at her as he offers his thin excuse.

She throws him a sour expression in return, "That plan went really well."

"I'm so--" He begins.

"I'll leave you two to work this out." Cyrus excuses himself, understanding that the conversation is about to become too private for him to witness.

He leaves the dining room through the kitchen as Chuck throws him an appreciative smile. Cyrus nods and is gone.

"I'm so sorry." Chuck finishes once they are alone.

Blair buries her face into his chest and takes a steady breath, "I know, me too. For overreacting."

Chuck vehemently shakes his head, "No, this one's on me. I would have reacted the same way you did."

"I'm still sorry for the things I said. Forgiven?" She adds, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I'm thinking about it." He replies, pulling her in for a kiss.

The strength of the kiss takes them off guard; both clutching the other closer until they break apart to breathe.

"What do we do now?" Blair inquires when the flow of oxygen to her lungs becomes regular.

Chuck waits a beat, then resolutely avows, "I say we get the bastard."


End file.
